In That Instance
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Tumblr Whouffle Prompt: The moment the Doctor finally realizes he's in love with Clara? I feel like his internal monologue would be hilarious and he would probably end up blurting out the most ridiculous thing to her...you know like "Ding Dong." (Written BEFORE 'Time of the Doctor')


Of course he'd been in love before. The Doctor would argue he falls in love all the time. A pretty face, a sharp mind, a new invention that goes ding when it finds things. Love, he would insist, was something all around all of the time, looking for new crevices in hearts, new sparks in souls, new newness to be enjoyed. _Of course_ he'd been in love before.

He'd just never had it knock him on his backside and apologize profusely while he stammered over a sentence and got stuck on a realization. He'd never had it look him in the eye and give him a familiar half-grin as it dusted itself off and beckoned him to follow. Somehow he never expected it to be _her_.

The Doctor had loved many companions. He'd loved all of his companions. When they yelled at him, when they argued with him, when they looked him in the eye and called him mad and followed him anyways. When they laughed at him, when they cried with him, when they jumped across dimensions or altered the flow of time for him. He loved them for their cleverness, for their bravery, for their witty retorts and their sometimes innocently stupid questions. Mostly he loved them for being the humility he lacked in the times he needed to be reminded he was no god.

_Blimey, she's beautiful._

He turned away when she offered a hand, pushing himself up to sit as she mumbled, "Suite yourself."

_ She smells of lavender today, is that a new scent? Wasn't the same as the last time. The day before – the week before for her, I suppose. Should I ask her? Would it be ok to ask her? It's just a smell, a perfume purchased in a store… but she'd know. She'd know I knew. She'd know I knew it changed and she might know. What would she know? Was there something to know? No. You're just smelling. Smelling is good, natural, normal. Very normal. Everyone smells. But it smells lovely._

"I'm really not dressed for this, Doctor," she pointed out, continuing to pat her hands absently against her skirt, sending the edges of it up slightly, revealing just a few inches more.

_ Definitely a new skirt. Not one she's ever worn before. Bit shorter than the others. Bit shorter, quite a bit shorter. Almost… knickers. Definitely knickers. Pink ones with red hearts. Sort of cute, got a pair of boxers similar to – stop thinking about her knickers. Thinking about the knickers might lead to thinking about the…_

"Doctor? You planning on getting up any time soon?"

She was laughing, and then it dissolved into an easy giggle as she nodded her head in the direction they'd been travelling just before she'd tripped, sending them both into the snow. He smiled, chuckling nervously to himself as he pushed off the ground and slapped at his backside, pointing and telling her, "It's the shoes, girls always want to wear the stylish pumps. Even when they know there'll be running involved."

"We were going for brunch in a cabin where you assured me there would be no snow – how was I to know running would be involved."

He smiled, "Isn't there always running?"

She pointed and began walking with an amused shake of her head.

_ The small bit of heel did give her a better height. Not that her height was all that bad. Short. I've had short before. Dealt with short. They handle the size difference by overcompensating with the bossiness. Shorter people tend to be dismissed because of their size. But not her. Never her. She's smiling back at me. Can she read minds. Of course she can't read minds. That would be ridiculous. Ridiculous does come with your line of work – your manner of living – your par for the course. Could she read minds? Dangerous thing. Very dangerous thing because if she could read minds, she'd know you were thinking about her. She knows I'm thinking about her. Somehow she knows._

"Whatever's on your mind," she offered, "Must be a doozy… or are your cheeks simply kissed by the cold?" She was grinning at him, arms crossing at her chest to try and warm her hands, tucked into her armpits. "How far is the place? You said it was just over a hill… tell me we're not lost, Doctor."

_Ha, we're not lost! Are we not lost? We may be lost._

"Not at all, Clara. I'll have you know it's just over this hill."

"Said that last hill and then we fell over the hill."

"I recall," he told her quietly, hand rubbing at his back as she frowned.

"Did I hurt you?" She asked quietly, small his escaping her lips.

_Not in the way you might think._

"Of course not," he laughed.

_How did this happen?_

"Well then," she locked her arm in his, "Shall we?"

_Why did this happen?_

"Of course," he nodded forward, "Just over the hill."

_ Blame it on chemicals. Bursts of ooze and splooshes of whatzits flowing through your body. Just a chemical reaction caused by the knickers and the lavender and the way she's grinning up at you now. And maybe a little on the hair tucked behind her ear and the sly thought she's holding on her tongue, waiting to knock you off your feet again when you least expect it. Just like her._

"Seriously," she told him, "Are you alright?"

_ I'm in love with you is all. Just in love with you. A little bit. A smidge. A little smidge. Or a rather large one. A smidge the size of a continent. Or a planet. Or a galaxy. Or a dozen galaxies swirling around one another. Just a dozen galaxies in love with an impossible girl. The impossible girl._

"I'm fine," he sighed.

_ Absolutely perfect. Ambassador of perfect. Thumb through a dictionary, look up perfect, you'll find a lovely headshot of yours truly being perfectly perfect and at ease with the way your finger is… why is your finger doing that. Caressing is dangerous. Caressing is intimate. It's lovely. It's… now you're gripping. Gripping is…_

"Scale of one to ten…" she inquired.

_ Eleven. Eleven sounds good. Scale of one to ten. One being a doormat devoid of feeling and ten being a supernova of emotion. Eleven might just be me. Oh, it is me. I am Eleven. Technically. Nudging. With the nudging. Why with the nudging? Ah, an answer. She wants the answer. The answer to what question. Ho ho…_

"Ding dong!" He exclaimed.

_ What? Of a million things you could have said, beginning with 'ten', as 'ten' would have been the appropriate answer to the question – the actual question asked – and possible eleven being the amusing answer that would have elongated the length of time that small smile was tickling her lips. Eleven. Ten. A number. A clever retort. Not a body part. NOT a body part. A door bell. But your body part. Don't think of the body part. Or her body part. Or her body. Or a body. Or anything. Think of wood. THINK OF TREES. Think of the tree just in front of you. Lovely tree._

Clara eyed him a moment and then shrugged, sighing, "Normal level of weird, guess you are alright."

"Suppose so."

_If alright is in love._


End file.
